


flower crowns and pastel boots

by thepessimisticasshole



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Chaptered, F/F, Fluff, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Kidnapping, Kissing, M/M, breif descriptions of a fight, etc - Freeform, general rudeness, okay wait, pastel baz, pastel punk au, punk simon, rude slurs, there's fluff too i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-10 12:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 19,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5585353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepessimisticasshole/pseuds/thepessimisticasshole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>baz likes to dress in pastels, because his mother never did and it hurts to think about her. he likes to paint his nails, and match them to his hair and shoes.</p><p>and simon snow hates that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer- all characters belong to rainbow rowell

baz’s hair isn’t quite bubblegum pink.

he stares in the mirror, deciding whether to be disappointed- it’s more of a candyfloss shade, though the bottle advertised vibrant results. he worries his bottom lip in between his teeth.

there’s a loud knocking on the bathroom door. “baz, you’ve been in there for, like, an hour-”

actually, it’s probably been two hours- one for it to set, and another to shower- but he’s not about to point that out. he gives himself a last look in the mirror, raking his hand through the hair (it’s almost dry) and yanks open the door. his sister nearly falls in.

he ignores her fussing and twirls. she pouts, but her mutinous expression drains almost entirely away and she considers.

“i like it,” she decides, and he beams. “plus, it matches the sweater you got- remember, the one like two days ago? and your boots. the pink ones, the combat ones. with the white laces.”

she had actually bought him those for his birthday, and she’s now grinning smugly.

“you don’t think it’s too light? i was hoping it’d be a little brighter.”

“nah, it’s perfect. get out of the bathroom.”

“i see what you’re after,” he grumbles, but steps aside and lets her through.

–

she’s right; it does match his boots almost exactly. he slips them on, striking various poses in the mirror hanging on his wall because yes okay he’s a bit of a diva-

he wouldn’t usually dye his hair right before school, there’s too high of a chance it could go wrong, but he didn’t have time to do it on sunday (and he’s gotten fairly good at it by now). last weeks color- lilac- had faded out to a murky sort of grey that would clash terribly with everything he tried to wear, and it begged for a change.

so he looks to the jumbled mess that his wardrobe always manages to turn into- not that it’s his fault, of course; his sister loves stealing his clothes- and pulls out white jeans and his pink sweater. he spins again, grinning- yes, he likes this pink.

he grabs his backpack and hardens his face into a glare, clomping out of his room. mordelia’s just coming out of the bathroom.

“jesus, baz- for someone who dresses like a fairy, you would think you’d be a little nicer.”

he flashes her a grin. “sorry, mori, just getting ready for school.”

she rolls her eyes. “you know, people would like you a little more if you were just… normal.”

he pulls a wounded face. “excuse me?”

“no, not- you know what i mean, if you acted the way you do at home. you’re nice here.”

“keeping up appearances, little sister.”

“baz, your hair’s pink.”

“so?” his smile’s turned impish, and she rolls her eyes to the ceiling.

“you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you.”

“yep.”

she sticks her tongue out at him. he laughs.

“really, though- why don’t you?”

“dunno,” he shrugs. “it’s a bit too late now. doesn’t matter, anyway.” _i’ve been doing this since i was five,_ he means. _i don’t want to find new people to disappoint._

“it matters a bit…”

“no,” he says, ending the conversation. she glares. “i’ll be late if i don’t go now. have a nice day, mori.”

–

school’s awful, as usual, and he’s half asleep come lunch. (he’s tired enough to drop the bitchy expression and make sweater paws, earning him a couple of sideways glances.)

it’s on his way to lunch- from french, so he doesn’t have any books- that he runs across simon snow.

a thousand cliches run through his head- hair like spun gold, eyes as blue as the sea, teeth white as snow (and generally as hot as a bonfire), and his cheeks flood pink. it probably matches his hair. he ducks his head and twists his fingers together, hurrying past him and his chattering, laughing group of friends.

and obviously, because he’s been having a shitty day, they have to point him out.

“hey, look, it’s the pitch-bitch! all pretty in pink,” they jeer. baz flushes darker, all down his neck, and his shoulders hunch inwards. they zero in on him from across the hall.

“c'mon, pitch-bitch, when’re you gonna admit it? fucking fairy- look at his pink boots, jesus christ.”

this from simon.

he can shrug off the others comments- he’s been hearing them all his life- but it _hurts_ when it comes from him. (baz doesn’t quite know why he developed his massive crush, but he assumes its the universes way of punishing him.)

“are you deaf, fairy? or just stupid?”

baz fixes his eyes on his shoes, burning with shame and anger. he can’t talk back, he knows exactly what’d happen.

he’d make a disparaging comment. and they’d jeer. and then they’d pick apart everything that was wrong with him, bit by bit.

he hates it.

it doesn’t matter. he’s just the weird kid who dyes his hair a new color every week and wears flower crowns and paints his nails to match his shoes.

he’s a perfect target.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: all characters belong to rainbow rowell

simon watches baz down the hallway with an undisguised sneer curling his lips.

he _hates_ him- hates his clothes, and his hair, and how he never puts up any defense past his derisive glares. everything about him sets simon’s teeth on edge.

“faggot,” he mutters, and the rest of his group starts laughing around him.

“jesus, simon,” says agatha from beside him. he turns to look at her- she’s examining her nails, nose wrinkled. “let him live, why don’t you?”

“why would you care- wait, do you _like_ him?” he raises both eyebrows practically into his hairline. she scoffs, rolls her eyes.

“no, i don’t _like_ him- in case you hadn’t noticed, basilton pitch is a flaming homosexual. but he hasn’t actually done anything to deserve this.”

simon feels a flash of anger run down his spine. “he’s a fucking shirt lifter, agatha!”

she looks up from her nails to roll her eyes. “you’ve been pushing that since we were, like, twelve. grow up.”

he glares at her. “whatever, agatha.”

fucking fairy.

—

“penelope.”

baz greets her coolly, sliding into his customary seat at the lunch table. she hardly looks up from her book.

“baz.”

they sit in silence for the entirety of lunch. 

they never really talk, but they have a mutual assurance. penny will defend baz, and baz will defend penny. 

after all, loners stick together.  

—

he’s walking home from school when it happens.

simon appears from around a corner, flanked by two of his burliest cronies. baz watches them approach, then flickers his eyes to the ground- this feels different than their usual verbal fights. 

more ominous.

“hey, pitch-bitch,” says simon. he’s speaking quietly, but baz can hear every word. “i wanted to talk with you.”

“really,” drawls baz, pulling his sweater down over his hands again. they’re shaking a bit- he clenches them together. “you actually want to do this right now- could you have picked a more cliche setting? wait, let me gather the crowd chanting for my blood.”

simon isn’t reacting- he has a half smile set in place on his face. it’s creepy as fuck, if baz is being honest- he backs up until he has a wall at his back.

which maybe isn’t his best move.

they advance until they’re surrounding him, simon in the middle- they’re almost nose to nose. baz slouches down the wall a little, wrapping his arms around himself. he has a very bad feeling.

“so, pitch-bitch,” simon breaths, practically in his his face. baz shivers involuntarily.

“fuck off, snow.”

“oh! a reaction!” simon looks inordinately pleased with himself. “nice to know you aren’t completely stupid. anyways… you didn’t let me finish.”

and suddenly his hands are on the wall to either side of baz’s head, and he’s leaning forward. baz looks up at him with wide eyes.

“so, how much do you charge a night, huh?”

baz flinches back, eyes dropping to the ground. simon laughs, leans in close- he puts his lips right by baz’s ear.

“i bet you go cheap, huh? i bet you like it.”

baz bites his lip, sudden tears flooding his eyes, and pulls his shoulders in closer. simon puts a hand on his face, trails it along his cheekbone- then just as suddenly slaps him.

hard.

baz yelps in surprise, and simon grins, face flushed. he hits him again, in the stomach this time- and like that was a signal, his two friend fall on him. baz squeezes his eyes shut, heart drumming in his ears- they hit his face, and his stomach, and his arms, and it fucking _hurts._

when they finally get off him, he’s curled into a tight little ball, and he can’t hardly breath.

they leave him there, and baz can hear simon laughing.

—

he’s locked himself up in his room for three days.

he doesn’t want to go out- because it hurts to move, and he despises the pitying looks that he knows will be thrown at him, and it’s winter break and he can do what he damn well pleases. he just lies curled up in the dark, and stews.

he hates simon snow. he hates him so much it’s painful- it throbs in his bruises and in his fingertips (but something inside of him, something sick and twisted and *wrong, still loves him.)

_“so, how much do you charge a night?”_

baz shudders in revulsion, burying his face into his pillow. fuck him. fuck him, fuck him, fuck him fuck him fuck him-

_“i bet you like it.”_

lips against his ear. breath down his neck.

baz cries himself to sleep that night.

—

every year, for birthdays and christmas and everything, he gets dark clothes. blacks and greys and navy blues- they don’t even try to be subtle about it.

this year, it feels like a punch in the stomach.

 _fine_ , he thinks. _god, fine, i’ll wear them. i’ll be_ normal.

he hates himself for giving in, but it’s been ten years and it fucking hurts.

_fine._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: all characters belong to rainbow rowell

he doesn’t re-dye his hair, this time; he lets it grow back in. it’s a dark, silky black, and baz stands in front of the mirror running his fingers through it.

up and down. up and down. in and out. breathe, basilton.

it’s his mother’s hair.

he still remembers her, sometimes- calloused hands, and soft lullabies, and her dark hair flying out as she twirled. she died when he was just young enough not to remember her properly, just old enough to miss her like hell.

he thinks that’s why he wears the colors- because she never did.

he doesn’t like to think about her.

—

he cleans his closet, draping purples and pinks and baby blues over his arms. it hurts more than it should.

it feels like he’s betraying himself, or his pact- like he’s breaking the rules.

there’s a carpet of neatly folded clothes at the bottom of it- jumpers and jeans and button up shirts.

he sits down, leans his head against the wall, and, because he’s absolutely pathetic, begins to cry.

again.

 _“look at that, pitch-bitch- crying for mummy, are you?“_ simon’s voice is jeering, mocking, and somehow it strengthens baz’s resolve. he sits up, brushing tears from his eyes, slips into black jeans and a dark grey jumper.

it feels wrong.

he looks into the mirror, and he sees a stranger staring back at him- but when he looks closer, at the eyes and the nose and the cheekbones and the lips, he can see his mother.

_"oh, my little puff… you’ve grown so much.”_

he’s crying again.

he’s been running away from her, and now she’s finally caught up.

he misses her.

_“i’m so proud of you.”_

—

he walks into school with his head hanging low.

his hair covers his face like a curtain, and he wears his darkness like a barricade. his insides feel empty. he’s given up, given in.

he doesn’t care anymore.

—

simon sees him walking down the hall, and his world narrows.

he’s wearing dark jeans and a black jumper, eyes fixed on the floor. his hair is black, too, and simon wonders if that’s another dye or his actual hair color.

he doesn’t much care.

“hey, frosty, you think you’ll go unnoticed just because you dropped the pink?”

he relishes in how baz skitters at the sound of his voice. it’s _empowering._

“i’m not gonna lie- you’re really living up to your role as the faggot emo now.” he holds up a strand of baz’s hair- they’ve stopped walking, now- and tugs on it while he considers it. “is this your real hair color for once?”

baz nods mutely, eyes on his shoes.

“aww, did the fairy lose his voice?” simon’s voice is a simpering pout.

baz doesn’t answer, and simon grins.

—

baz endures five days of this- the teasing is constant, worse, even- and when saturday comes he’s decided he’s had enough. he goes out of the house at 8 in the morning, and doesn’t return until three am.

and he spends the day entirely drunk, doing his best to imitate what a perfect relationship is like. and the man’s beautiful, and kind, and he doesn’t seem to care that baz’s heart isn’t in it at all.

so they laugh and grin and smile for the camera and baz doesn’t even know his _name,_ he’s living a fucking _lie_ -

hasn’t he always been?

it’s fine. he’s fine.

maybe if he repeats it enough, it’ll come true.

—

he locks himself in his room for all of sunday with nothing but a bottle for company.

—

simon’s waiting at his locker this time.

baz closes his eyes, tottering on his feet- he doesn’t have time (or energy) for this, whatever it’ll turn out to be.

“so, you’re a proper whore now? didn’t know you worked as a street treat, frosty.”

and baz freezes. “i’m sorry?”

simon rakes his eyes thoughtfully up and down baz’s body. “how much did he pay you? or did _you_ pay _him,_ you little sl-”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” interrupts baz, panic lacing his tone- he feels as if he’s going to be sick. fuck, this was about the instagram picture, wasn’t it?

“oh, come on, frosty,” simon says, his smile lazy but promising hurt. “admit it.”

“i’m not a-” the words stick in his throat, and simon grins, paces closer. like a wild animal, closing in on its prey. 

“you’re a fucking whore,” he whispers, right up close to baz’s face- close enough that baz flinches back. “nothing more, nothing less.” he smells like mint and cologne, and damp, cold alleyways with a fist in your stomach. “i really can’t believe you’re a pitch, frosty- you must have been adopted. or maybe your mother was a whore, just like you? what do you think?”

and baz is frozen, and simon continues to jeer at him- until he spins on his heel and walks away, hunched over like there’s something with claws in his chest. 

maybe there is. 

maybe that’s what’s ripping him apart.

he goes into the bathroom, and it’s empty so he sobs and hits the wall and curses simon snow with everything he has in him.

because he couldn’t even defend his mother.

and maybe simon’s right.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: all characters belong to rainbow rowell

the worst dreams are the ones that feel hopeful.

the worst dreams are the ones that feel happy.

the worst dreams are the ones were you can feel his hand on your cheek and hear his voice saying your name and it’s so tender and soft and sweet that you wake up screaming and you wake up sobbing and you wake up _alone_.

—

baz is sick, maybe.

maybe it’s his brokenness, his wrongness, his sadness and hurt and pain- maybe it’s eating him from the inside.

he doesn’t know.

all he knows is staring at a blurry ceiling and soup being poured down his lips and burning up with damp heat on his back and neck and forehead.

burning up, just like his mother.

all he knows is pain.

—

pitch hasn’t been at school.

and he’s simon’s favorite activity- teasing him and belittling him and breaking his spirit, bit by bit. because he’s bored, and he’s young, and he’s destructive.

it’s fun and it’s funny and it fills up a little of the hole inside simon- because there is one now, and it’s labeled basilton pitch because something went wrong somewhere down the line.

simon hates him.

(maybe.)

—

when baz gets better he hides it, because he doesn’t want to go back. he doesn’t want to face those blue eyes and those sparkling teeth and those poisonous words- “ _whore, freak, street treat, slut, faggot, idiot, pitch-bitch-_ ”

because sometimes, even when he’s alone, they creep into his mind and tell him that it’s _true_ , it’s _all_ true.

—

they make him go back, and there’s fights and shouting and his little sisters pressing their backs to doorframes when he goes through them and he feels awful and he hates what he’s become and

—

he wears black smudges under his eyes and all the color has been drained from him.

—

he’s back at school.

simon thinks he at least should be pleased- or whatever the emotion is, dealing with baz. half euphoria, half bitter disgust.

but he’s wrong- sad and lonely and dark- and simon thinks that he might not want to play with him today. maybe.

a broken toy isn’t any fun at all.

—

baz doesn’t go to his locker- he walks straight to class. and he eats lunch in the boys bathroom. and he skips the one class that he has with simon, even though they sit on opposite sides of the room.

and the worst thing is that it’s hurting him.

because he’s in a twisted kind of love. it tingles in his chest, like an ache, like a longing, and it makes him sick and it makes him scared-

he wonders what must be wrong with him, to want someone like simon. he wonders what’s wrong in his mind.

because when he runs into simon- of course he’s going to, simon’s so fucking determined to make baz’s life miserable- he feels the first emotion he has all day- butterflies in his stomach. and fear, of course. and disgust. and electric currents running up and down his arms.

“hey, pitch-bitch,” he says, voice warm and throaty and prickling with knives. he’s a contradiction, and he’s bad, and baz wishes he’d just leave him alone. (and he’s wishing he’ll stay, at the same time.) (maybe the honey voice is worth the words.)

and then he goes on, tearing him down, breaking everything he wants to hold steady, and baz takes it.

—

baz is white and thin as paper and he looks fragile.

like a china doll, thinks simon, and then grins.

it’s hollow, almost, but he has to keep up appearances. and there’s a part of him, still, that likes it. there’s a part of him that hits and hurts and grows spikes to keep people as far away as possible.

“what have you done to him?”

it’s agatha, and she’s horrified.

“jesus, simon, what have you done?”

something.

—

penny talks to him (because loners stick together, _loners sticks together, loners stick together_ -)

“baz, what’d he do to you?”

and he whispers it, like a secret. “i don’t know.”

and her eyes harden, and she squares her shoulders, and she marches over and hits simon snow square in the jaw.

he just stares at her- everybody stares at her- and baz ducks his head to hide his smile before simon sees.

(he gets it, later, but at least it’s not penny.)

—

he thinks something went wrong along the way.

he thinks he used to hate baz more than anything in the world- he thinks he used to be disgusted by him.

by his nose, which was too high on his forehead.

by his soft colors and angry eyes.

by his refusal to fight back-

maybe he still is. maybe if he looks hard enough, he’ll pin down everything he hates and spell them out, letter by letter, so maybe baz could feel what he feels.

 _he deserves it,_ he tells himself.

_he deserves it._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: all characters belong to rainbow rowell

he’s every name but his own.

he’s pitch-bitch, degrading and insulting and painful-

he’s whore (and he’s slut and street treat and something he doesn’t want to repeat, not even in his own head)- even though it’s a lie-

he’s frosty, he’s rainbow, he’s freak and bitch and arse, and he’s breaking apart.

—

baz is the shadow of a soft pastel almost, hollow and light and quiet as a whisper.

—

simon feels something when he looks at him- like a star collapsing in his chest. and he thinks he knows what it is, because he used to feel like that when he looked at agatha.

he turns his fear and disgust into rage and finds baz and everything the he thinks will hurt him and he unleashes it all, a torrent of insults and jabs and low blows. and as he watches baz’s shocked eyes he feels a surge of savage pleasure breaking over him, growing and growing until-

it’s guilt, it’s not pleasure at all, but he continues because that’s all he knows how to do.

and he watches basilton pitch break into a thousand pieces, right before his eyes.

—

_i made a mistake_ , he admits to himself. alone.

_i made a mistake, and there’s something wrong with him but there’s something wrong with me too._

and then the rest of him beats that part down (like pretty pink boots and hair and sprinkles of red) because no, he’s not a freak like him he’s not he’s _not he’s_ _not_ -

he likes girls. he likes _agatha_.

it wasn’t meant to turn out like this.

—

baz lies in bed and stares at the ceiling and feels nothing.

he wonders, from far off, if he’d care if he’d die.

simon wouldn’t care.

no, simon would care- simon would dance with joy. simon would be happier than he’s ever been.

baz has disappointed so many people.

his family, for being who he is.

his mother, for not being strong enough to save her.

maybe he could make one person happy.

even if it’s simon snow.

(especially if it’s simon snow.)

—

simon knows people.

he knows people who know people and eventually he gets baz’s number because anger and bitterness is seeping through his seams and he needs an outlet.

so he slips outside, where it’s cold and he can think, and texts him.

—

baz is lying on his back in a room full of shadows when his phone beeps.

he considers not answering it, but it might be one of his parents, and they’ll be upset if he ignores their text. he slides his phone open, and- an unnamed number, not his parents. he’s about to put it down, he doesn’t care, but his eyes skin it-

**_hey, pitch bitch_ ,** it reads, and baz’s blood runs cold. he stares, frozen, until another message pops up.

_**so after i made u cry today how did u feel? bc u looked really pathetic** _

he doesn’t answer. (he hadn’t actually cried, just hidden his face in his sleeve and stayed that way until they left.)

_**cmon fairy r u even there** _

baz puts his phone down, gently, and lies down, and pulls his pillow over his ears. he can still hear the phone buzzing, over and over and over again.

he doesn’t get any sleep.

—

it’s like he’s being prodded closer and closer to the edge.

he would turn off his phone- he has, several times- but he always turns it back on, out of some twisted curiosity. and he’s always greeted by insults and mockery-

he doesn’t answer back, though.

he never does.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: all characters belong to rainbow rowell

it’s become a routine.

simon gets up, slips on his jacket, and leaves his house at seven. he brings his phone. he texts petty things and wonders why it doesn’t make him happy like it used to. 

his walks usually take him past houses and groups of trees and parks, but today he ends up in a shadowy, enormous backyard. the pitch estate- _estate_ , he sneers to himself.

 _ **posh git,**_ he taps out, before jumping the fence. there’s only one window- it’s baz’s. he thinks.

his phone vibrates unexpectedly. simon stares at it- baz never texts back. ever.

_No, I’m not._

_**yes u r, u even type like one wtf** _

_This is how you type._

are they having a conversation?

_**yeah if ur a freak so i guess u would** _

there’s a pause, and simon feels a swooping sensation in his stomach. it can’t be disappointment, but-

_Fuck off._

simon raises his eyebrows. it’s not much, but it’s the most defiance he thinks he’s ever seen from him. (glares don’t count.)

_**wtf has gotten into u??** _

another pause, then-

_I’m tired, Snow._

which is a little concerning, because it’s still early.

_**it’s like?? 8** _

_Of you._

ouch.

_**well fuck u too** _

_You don’t have to do this_

_**do what** _

_I don’t know_

_Whatever you’re doing_

_I don’t know why does it make you feel better about yourself? Is that it?_

a flash of anger makes his fists clench.

_**shut up, fairy** _

something creaks- a bed?- and muffled footsteps get quieter as they leave the room. simon leans his head against the side of the house, pulling his jacket a little tighter around him.

the footsteps return. he still hasn’t answered. simon glares.

_**don’t go thinking of urself like i care abt anything u do** _

no answer.

_**what about u could make me feel better abt myself? i already know i’m better its not exactly hard** _

_Stop it_

a reaction.

_**or what, fairy? u’ll cry again?** _

_Go away._

_**aww, is the little poof emotional?** _

this time simon hears a distinct gasp- it sounds jagged, wounded. shit.

—

he stiffens.

_“goodnight, little puff.”_

_his mother’s musical voice, brilliant smile._

_pushing his hair gently out of his eyes._

_“little puff, how can you even see?”_

_reading him a book. teaching him notes on a violin._

_her silhouette in a fire roaring twice his height._

_“basilton, sweetheart,_ run _\- go on, little puff, it’ll be alright. i love you.”_

the last time he saw him mother. the last time he heard her voice.

his breath catches on the memory, releasing in a painful half sob.

—

simon’s stomach lurches because for all his mocking and teasing he’s never actually made baz cry before.

it hurts to hear.

his phone buzzes.

_D on’t call me that_

and he’s going to reply when he hears another low sob, and another, and he can’t stop himself for more than a long minute. even though it’s creepy and invasive and _wrong_ , he scales the tree with its branches pressed up right against baz’s window and peers in-

he’s sat, face buried in the knees clutched tightly to his chest, and he’s sobbing near silently. his hands wrap around each other, shaking like leaves, and simon stares, ready to bolt at the tiniest sign baz is about to look up. and he doesn’t understand-

this is what he wants, isn’t it? basilton pitch, crying because of something he said, weak and pathetic and-

he hates it. he doesn’t know why.

and he slips into the room, padding as quietly as he can over to were baz sits (he doesn’t know what he’s doing and every cell in him is screaming _go_ , what are you _doing_ , _throw away_ your new-found compassion because _you don’t fucking need_ it) and crouches in front of him.

and (he doesn’t know why) reaches out and lightly touches baz’s arm.

he startles into the wall and simon’s halfway across the room and they both freeze, staring at each other. baz’s eyes are wide and glistening with tears and simon feels his heart clench uncomfortably again. he doesn’t like it.

they stay there, staring at each other, for what feels like hours- before simon moves in closer. baz watches him warily, then lets his head fall back with a dull thunk.

“just- go,” he whispers, words quiet enough that simon has to strain to hear them.  they ghost, feather light, through his lip. “let me sleep…i’m so tired.”

_oh._

“fros- baz-”

"please.” his eyes slide closed (simon really sees, for the first time, how inordinately pale he is, almost glowing in the moonlight. like a roman statue.)

simon’s close enough to touch him again, and he does- lays a hand on his shoulder because he has no idea how to comfort people-

and it’s like a touch of a button, like baz has just been unfurled into his arms.

simon’s frozen with baz wrapped around him and the star in his chest is going nova, sending ripples of feeling pooling in his toes and fingertips and rippling up and down his arms, legs, chest, neck, head- it’s elation and disgust (this is a _boy_ this is _baz_ this is _wrong_ ) wrapped into one electric package-

and he brings his arms up to wrap around his thin shoulders, hesitantly, like baz is fragile and breakable as delicate glass.

maybe he is.

he doesn’t know how long they sit like that, while simon battles himself- this is sick, wrong, _disgusting_ ( _warm_ , _steady_ , _safe_ )- before baz pulls back as abruptly as he fell forward, pressing his back into the wall again. he looks like he’s bracing for something, but simon is speechless.

“i-” simon starts, then clears his throat. twice. their eyes are locked, there’s fire crackling down simon’s spine-

and he surges forward, pressing their lips together- it’s short and sloppy and is over as soon as it’s begun.

baz stares at him, eyes stretched as wide as dinner plates. simon’s mouth falls open, shocked and horrified and almost desperate for more.

“i- i need to go,” he whispers, and he’s at the window before baz can even move.

—

simon cries himself to sleep, buried until a mountain of blankets and shame and longing and pain.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: all characters belong to rainbow rowell

the next day’s saturday. simon keeps his phone on his bedside table, sound turned fully up.

just in case.

(of what? just in case baz texts him? simon doesn’t know what he would say to him.

“ _i hate you_.” even though that’s not quite true.

“ _i’m terrified of myself and everything i’ve ever been taught is crumbling around my shoulders_ ,” maybe.)

and he doesn’t come out from his blanket cocoon, to eat or shower or drink water-

it doesn’t matter. there’s no one around to notice.

—

monday comes too quickly.

simon’s barely slept- all he can think about is how soft baz’s lips were, and what they made him feel, and shit shit _shit_ he can’t be gay he just _can’t_ be-

then he realizes that really no one will care if he doesn’t go to school, so he just wraps his duvet tighter around him and pulls the blinds to block out the sun.

—

he keeps remembering.

it feels so surreal- the way the moonlight softened simon’s face and how vulnerable his eyes looked and the sloppy, quick press of lips.

and he left so quickly.

and he doesn’t know why, or how, he was there- maybe he _had_ been dreaming.

he convinces himself.

—

on wednesday he gets up and showers and comes to school halfway through the day.

baz is at his usual lunch table, and simon can’t stop sneaking glances at him.

“what’s wrong with you?”

dev’s lip is curled, and simon glares. “nothing. go away.”

he smirks, raises an eyebrow. “what’s wrong, snow, do you want to beat up the pitch-bitch again? would that make you feel better?”

simon eyes flash, and he gets up in dev’s face. “shut the fuck up,” he snarls, and dev backs down.

“whatever,” he mutters.

—

they don’t interact until thursday after school.

simon’s been avoiding him, baz can tell- he doesn’t see him in the halls, while usually simon makes an effort to be noticed, and he’s skipping their shared class.

he mostly feels relief (and sneaking tendrils of disappointment, which spot his cheeks with shame).  

baz is walking to his car when he sees simon. he’s leaning, head down, against a wall, and when he hears baz he looks up.

he looks oddly flat- his curls have loosened and droop over the shaved sides of his head and his forehead. baz feels a pang of something in his chest.

“we need to talk.” simon’s voice is unusually subdued. he clears his throat and beckons baz over.

he approaches warily.

“yes?”

“i-” simon scrubs his fingers through his hair, shoving it off his forehead. he looks tired.

—

simon feels utterly exhausted, and he’s struggling for words. what’s he supposed to say?

“ _oh yeah, you know how i snuck in through your window and kissed you even though i’m straight and have been mocking you for kissing guys for years? yeah, well, i’ve been thinking about this for five days and i think i might not actually be entirely straight. and i’m telling you this very calmly but in reality i cried for about an entire day because if there’s one thing that my neglectful adoptive father did tell me it’s that being different is about the worst thing you could possibly be. oh, also, i think i accidentally developed a crush on you somewhere along the way and damn, you look good in that sweater- where’d you get it?_ ”

nope.

baz is stood in front of him, waiting. 

“so, i- well, i- i might not be, like- i _kissed_ you,” he blurts, then ducks his head, face burning red. the revulsion and elation fills up his chest, his lungs- he coughs, embarrassed. baz is still quiet.

“and, like, it wasn’t on purpose,” he continues hurriedly. “but… it happened, and-”

he looks up hopefully- maybe baz will just know what he means- but his face is still impassive. simon fights the urge to glare, and instead huffs exasperatedly.  

“i’ve been an absolute dick to you,” he says. “and. i guess, what i’m trying to say is-”

baz is just looking at him, and simon’s fists clench.

“i’m sorry, okay?” he spits it through clenched teeth, because holy shit is that annoying. baz narrows his eyes.

“no.”

“excuse me?”

“you don’t get to walk up here and- great, you kissed me, but guess what else? you bullied me. for months. you made me hate myself so much it hurts to look in the fucking _mirror_. you do not get to just swan over and do whatever you’re trying to do, that’s not how it _works_ -”

simon’s jaw clenches. “i-”

“just- you can’t _do_ that.” baz’s voice is small, and quiet, and he’s staring at his shoes. simon wonders if he’s going to cry again.

“fine. whatever.” god damn it. “go, then.”

baz turns to leave, and he’s almost to his car before simon calls out to him, on a whim.

“wait!”

baz pauses, and simon swallows. he can’t really believe he’s doing this.

“what would i have to do- to, like, make it up to you?” he asks. even though he’s simon snow, and that’s baz pitch, and he shouldn’t have to make anything up to anybody.

baz turns, and just looks at him for a moment- all blacks and whites and smudged purple circles under his eyes- and gets into his car, and drives away.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: all characters belong to rainbow rowell

simon really doesn’t know where to start.

because yeah, he’s an asshole- but usually he’s the kind of asshole who doesn’t give a single shit about how others feel. (it’s selfish and horrible and rude, he knows, but so is he. probably.)

so he sits on his bed and stares at his phone and wrestles with his pride- because fuck this baz should be the one initiating, and also fuck that because there’s no reason to believe he would.

_**hey**_ , he types, then deletes it. damn it, he has to be cool. he _is_ cool.

_**hey, frosty** _

that’s even worse.

he glares at the blinking bar like it’s personally offended him.

_**what’s up?** _

_no._

simon throws his phone onto his desk, face down, and there’s the crackle of breaking glass. he swears loudly.

fuck this, he’ll just call him.

—

baz is in the middle of homework- maths- when his phone starts to buzz. someone’s calling him- simon.

he considers ignoring the call. he wants to ignore the call.

but he’s fucking pathetic, so he takes it.

“hello?”

“hey,” says simon. his voice holds an angry bite, and baz furrows his brow.

“why’re you calling me?”

“making it up to you,” says simon, and he’s clearly smirking. baz glares at the opposite wall.

“don’t.”

“i’m gonna,” he sings.

“huh.”

“no, i am.” simon’s voice is suddenly serious- baz thinks this is one of the most confusing things about him. his random mood swings.

“whatever.”

“i am!” he repeats, but now he’s laughing. baz rolls his eyes, starts working again.

“so, what’re you doing?”

“homework,” baz answers shortly. he doesn’t know why he’s not hanging up.

“what class?”

“maths.”

simon makes a sympathetic noise, and it’s just as weird as baz would have expected. there’s an awkward pause.

“so…” he draws it out. “what would you be doing if i was there?”

“…snow.”

simon laughs, genuinely, and baz thinks it’s the first time he’s heard it. and he squashes the flutter in his chest, buries it in his hurt and anger.

“goodbye, snow.”

he listens to simon’s laughter turn to offended splutters, and hangs up.

—

school’s… different.

he’s not being ignored by simon, not like before, and he’s not being sought out. he’s just invisible.

baz rather likes it.

—

he’s being ignored.

simon _hates_ being ignored- he gets enough of that at home. and he knows that constantly texting him will make it even worse. because it’s awful at school, now that he’s doing…

whatever he’s doing.

because baz doesn’t seem to feel the constant pull that simon does- like he needs to be near him.

which is new, and different, and strange.

he’s done a fairly good job of just not thinking about it- because thinking about it means acknowledging that baz is

a.) a boy

and b.) the same boy that he’s been tormenting since primary school.

[c.) because he liked boys.]

and that always gives him a sour feeling in his stomach. so he avoids it.

anyways, he hates being ignored, and that’s exactly what’s happening.

so simon decides to make it so baz can’t possibly not pay attention to him.

—

he’s followed by hushed whispers as he walks down the hallway.

_“what the fuck happened to snow?”_

_“what’s he done?”_

_“oh my god, his-”_

they part before him like he’s waving a sword; he ignores them, eyes roving the crowd for the familiar head of black hair.

he spots him at his locker and ambles over to lean against the wall right by him- baz doesn’t notice him. simon watches as he rearranges the books in his backpack, pushes his hair out of his eyes, and straightens up- and then yelps as he finally sees simon.

“hey, frosty.”

baz’s mouth drops open. “oh my god, what’ve you done?”

simon’s grin is smug. “d'you like it?”

baz’s eyes are huge. “your- oh my god,” he says again, and simon’s smile falters slightly.

“baz-”

“your _hair_ ,” breathes baz with equal parts dismay and amusement, the corners of his lips twitching like they can’t quite decide what to do. “oh my god, what’ve you done to your hair?”

“i dyed it,” says simon with a considerable amount of self-satisfaction.

“i can see that,” baz says, eyes locked on simon’s curls- which are cherry red and sticking up wildly. (simon hides his almost equally red hands behind his back.)

he waits for him to say or do anything else, but nothing seems to be forthcoming.

“so..?” he prompts, and baz startles out of his daze.

“so what?”

“what do you think?” baz’s expression is endearing. (simon shoves that thought away.)

“it’s… interesting,” he finally says, and simon grins.

that’s good enough.

—

“why’d you do it?” baz asks, over the phone.

“i wanted to see your reaction,” says simon. baz frowns.

“you dyed your hair bright red to see my reaction?”

“yep,” simon says, and baz can practically hear his shit eating grin. he rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, simon laughing in his ear.

“oh hey, by the way, i’m at your front door- can you let me in?”

baz pauses, reviewing the last few seconds in his head. “excuse me?”

“would you prefer i climb through the window again?”

“what? no, of course not- what are you doing at my house?”

“visiting.”

“it’s two in the morning.

"just open the door, pitch.”

baz, probably against his better judgement, actually does- he fixes his hair and pads downstairs in his sock feet. simon’s standing on the doorstep in nothing but a t-shirt and jeans, and he’s carrying a plastic shopping bag.

“what are you doing?” his words are muffled by a yawn, and he steps aside to let simon in. he reaches into his shopping bag and pulls out a small tub. baz stares at it for a moment before his tired brain can come up with an explanation.

“is that- hair dye?” he asks, cautiously.

“yep.”

“why do you have-” his eyes narrow. “wait- _no_.”

simon grins. “yep.”

“snow. simon. no.”

“this is happening.”

“but you’re the one who-”

simon cuts across him. “nope, we’re doing this.” he looks baz up and down. “you should probably change into something older.”

“i don’t-”

“yeah, you’re right,” simon interrupts, “you probably don’t have anything. here.”

he pulls his shirt over his head and holds it out to baz- and simon snow’s standing half naked in his foyer. baz blushes furiously.

“what- no, you-”

“take it.” he waves the shirt insistently until baz has to take it, and turns his back obediently as baz slips into it. unwillingly.

it’s too big.

simon eyes him appreciatively, and baz blushes some more. “huh, yeah. your have to wear my clothes more.”

“simon-”

“c'mon, let’s do this.”

baz wants to argue some more, but a yawn overtakes him. god damn it, he’s too tired for this.

“will you leave me alone?”

simon considers. “maybe.”

“fine,” baz mutters. “whatever.”

—

“can you at least let me-”

“nope,” simon interrupts cheerfully. this is fun- much more than dying his own hair was.

“snow, i swear, if you get it on my skin- what color even is it?”

“not telling you,” sings simon under his breath. baz groans.

“i hate you,” he mutters feebly. he looks exhausted- his eyelids are drooping. simon grins.

“just close your eyes or something. sleep sitting up.”

“that’s stupid,” he mumbles, and then does it anyways.

simon’s ridiculously happy.  

—

“hey. baz.” he prods him awake. “c'mon, you’ve got to wash this out of your hair.”

“ _simon snow_ ,” he murmurs in a way that’s clearly supposed to be threatening and is in fact about as far from it as you can get, and stumbles to his feet. simon almost follows him into the bathroom, but baz glares.

“no.”

“what’m i supposed to do, then?”

baz shrugs. “i dunno. eat. read.”

simon groans theatrically, and baz hides a smile as he shuts the door behind him.

—

it’s blue.

sky blue, he thinks, although he can’t be certain when it’s still wet from the shower. he slicks it back, away from his face, then dresses and walks out.

simon’s not outside anymore, and baz has to wander around for nearly five minutes before he finds him in the kitchen, fast asleep with his head resting on the table.

baz stares at him from the doorway.

so much has changed in so little time.

simon’s almost sweet- he’s not the asshole from a few weeks ago. and baz thinks he’s probably different too.

he doesn’t know _why_ it happened, but he knows he shouldn’t take it for granted (and he probably shouldn’t be believing it at all, in case this is a trick.)

but right now it’s two in the morning, and all baz does is wake him up and bring him to his room and throw a pillow and a blanket at him for the couch.

everything else can wait.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: all characters belong to rainbow rowell

baz wakes up with simon snow in his face.

he squeaks, jumps back, and simon’s laughing before he can even comprehend what’s going on.

“what-” _are you doing in my room,_ he’s going to say, but then he remembers the hair dye- and the t-shirt thing. he checks to see if he’s still wearing it.

he is. right.

“rise and shine,” simon practically cackles, tossing his borrowed pillow back gently. baz very nearly doesn’t catch it- because simon snow is standing shirtless in his bedroom, all mussed hair and moles and toothpaste model grin.

baz looks away before it can really be counted as staring, face flushed, and yawns. “what time is it?”

simon looks unconcerned. “ten.”

“what?” baz’s mouth drops open. “school started an hour ago!”

“yep.”

“why didn’t my alarm wake me up? why didn’t _you_ wake me up?”

“you turned your alarm off,” simon says, “and then i didn’t want to.”

“snow,” groans baz exasperatedly. “what’ve you even been doing?”

for the first time that morning, simon drops his eyes away from baz and blushes faintly. “oh, nothing.”

“you’ve just been lying there for three hours doing nothing?” asks baz doubtfully. simon nods, flushing darker.

“uh, yeah. by the way, why do you have your alarm set for six? what do you do in all that time?”

“get ready for school,” says baz slowly. simon rolls his eyes.

“yeah, but why do you need three hours?”

“shower, dress, eat, do homework i haven’t yet? read? when do you get up?”

“8:15.”

“what- simon,” he says, lips pressed together disapprovingly. “that’s 25 minutes before school even starts.”

“yep,” says simon, grinning, and baz swings himself out of bed.

“whatever. i’m getting ready for school now.”

“nope, it’s too late now.”

“it’s not even lunchtime yet.”

“yeah, but…” simon’s face bunches up a little as he tries to think of a reason that baz shouldn’t go. “just say you’re sick.”

“why?”

“because i don’t want to go to school!”

“you don’t have to.”

“if you’re going, then i have to too.” simon drapes himself dramatically over the arm of the couch, and baz reflects over how strange this all is.

“that’s really not-”

simon sits blot upright and points a finger in baz’s face. he jumps back. “i just dyed your hair for you!”

“yeah, why’d you do that?”

simon reddens. “i just wanted to.”

“you’re… actually ridiculous, aren’t you?” simon’s face closes down, and baz rolls his eyes. “no, i don’t mean it in a bad way.”

“how’d you mean it, then?”

“simon- i meant it in the way that you switched from beating me up in dark allies to dying my hair for me in about two weeks.”

simon winces.

“and you’re the one who made me stop dying my hair in the first place. so why are you doing this?”

“i- uh,” simon eyes are fixed on his bare feet. “i wanted to say sorry. i guess. i… feel bad. and-”

“you should,” says baz immediately. he refuses to let simon off easy. he never did it to him. simon’s face drops.

“i thought- if i- i’ve never felt like this,” he says, desperately. “not about anyone. and you’re- i didn’t mean to, but you-”

baz is frozen in place, staring at him- just a second ago they were talking about hair dye. “simon,” he says softly, “what are you trying to say?”

“i like you, okay?” simon bursts, face flaring red. “i accidentally- i didn’t mean to, or anything, and i- you’re just-” he sags, suddenly, like there’s the weight of the world on his shoulders. “it wasn’t supposed to go like this.”

and then he looks up, right at baz. “but it did. and i know you might hate me, still- hell, i’d never forgive me- but i like you. i think i always did, but i- anyways. i just-”

baz looks down. “it’s… some of the things you said-”

simon bites his lip. “yeah, i know, i’m a complete arsehole. but i’m going to make it up to you, the best i can.”

baz nods doubtfully.

simon won’t last a week before getting bored of him.

—

“hey, baz!”

he turns to see simon, along with his group of friends. simon’s waving cheerfully. most of his friends are glaring at baz. they think he’s brainwashed him.

“hello, snow.”

“simon,” he reminds him, still grinning widely. he’s always happy, now.

it’s nice to see.

“hey, i was wondering if you’d like to go to your house after school?”

baz frowns. “did you just invite me to my own house?”

“yep,” says simon brightly. baz rolls his eyes.

“i don’t suppose i can say no.”

“nope,” simon grins.

it’s been three weeks since simon made his promise, and he’s going strong.

baz had thought he was in love before- that’s nothing compared to now. everything he does sends an ache through his chest. everything he does sends electric tingles down his spine. he’s terrified that simon will drop the act, he’s barreling forward, he’s holding himself back-

he’s scared. he’s confused.

he wouldn’t have it any other way.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: all characters belong to rainbow rowell

“heyyyy, bazzy!” simon’s voice is energetic and cheerful and very, very slurred.

“snow,” says baz disapprovingly, “are you drunk?”

simon giggles, which is answer enough, and baz sighs. he hates when simon’s drunk- he’s very affectionate. (overly affectionate.) (maybe it’s less hate than the resigned sort of pain that comes from wanting someone so bad it hurts and knowing you can never have them.)

“nooo _,_ ” he says, drawing it out, and baz rolls his eyes.

“you clearly are.”

his pout is practically audible. “’m _not_ , bazzy.”

“then what are you?”

he pauses, then says, in defeated tones: “well… ’m a _little_ drunk. only a little.”

“simon.”

“can i come over?” he asks, completely ignoring him- there’s a large amount of rustling on the other end. baz frowns.

“no, you certainly may not!”

there’s a thump on his window, and baz closes his eyes. “simon snow…”

simon’s grinning, rosy cheeked face pops up behind the glass, and baz groans. “i said you couldn’t come over.”

“yeah, well i was already over. let me in, i’m gonna fall out of this tree.”

baz strides over and jerks open the window. simon tumbles in, popping right back up again. he lists slightly to the right.

“ _bazzy_!” he sounds thrilled, and goes for a hug, but baz dodges.

“why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

simon looks down at himself, confused, and looks up still beaming. “i dunno,” he says, unconcerned. baz, however, is. a bit.

“it’s january, simon, it’s freezing cold out there.”

“only a little.”

baz marches over to the open window, sticks his hand out, and hisses. “it’s icy, snow.”

simon pouts. “why’re you mad at me?”

“i’m not,” snaps baz, slamming the window shut. simon’s cheerful grin disappears, replaced by a lost puppy look.

“baz-”

“you can’t just- god. _god_.” he runs a hand through his hair. “why were you even drinking?”

simon’s eyes drop to the floor. “i-”

“it’s not good for you, and you always end up like this! and you won’t tell me why! as much as i hate to admit it, simon, i’m worried.”

simon looks up. “you’re worried? about me?”

“yes, of course i’m worried!” says baz, exasperated. he’s not expecting simon’s face to crumple. 

“but- i was so _awful_. no, baz, i was _so_ bad- you shouldn’t be worried about me. not _ever_.” he’s started crying, and baz is just standing stock still. “i- never meant what i said, but it was like there was this big ball of _hate_ just sitting inside me and-”

“simon, calm down.”

“no, baz! i just- i can’t even forgive _myself_!” simon bursts. “i can’t even forgive myself, so how are you?”

baz slumps, suddenly, and his room is completely silent but for simon’s harsh breathing.

“i don’t think i have,” he admits. quietly. “i mean, not yet. but i’m always worried about you.”

simon rakes a hand through his hair, swipes the tears off his cheeks. “why?”

“because you’re simon snow,” baz says ruefully. “how could i not?”

—

simon wakes up with a pounding headache and tongue like dry leather.

he’s in baz’s room- he knows that without even opening his eyes. it’s colder in here, for one, and it smells of cedar and oranges. he doesn’t think he ever wants to get up; the couch is surprisingly comfortable.

a pillow smacks him in the head- “up.”- and he groans, loudly, stomach lurching.

“no,” he whines, burying his face further into his pillow and breathing in deeply before it occurs to him that he’s basically just inhaling baz’s scent with him watching. he turns his head to the side, facing away from baz. another pillow hits its mark.

“get up, snow.”

he whimpers as pathetically as he can muster. baz sighs. “simon. get up.”

simon rolls dramatically towards him and very nearly falls off the couch. baz looks down his nose. his eyes are oddly dull, the teasing sparkle just a faint glimmer far in the back of them.

shit.

oh, shit, what had he said? what had he-

_oh._

he’d gotten drunk, obviously. and made his way to baz’s house, and- cried in front of him. and something else. baz had been upset with him-

_“i’m worried about you.”_

baz’s memory voice is hazy, but clear enough that simon thinks it’s real. simon frowns. why should baz be worried about him? doesn’t matter.

he curls into a tight ball under his blankets and resolves to never come out again. people are too difficult.

“simon!”

ouch.

he hears footsteps, a soft yell- “mordelia!”- and a muttered conversation he can’t quite catch. lighter footsteps pitter away, fade into silence, then come back slower.

“snow. simon. please. i’ve been trying to get you up for at least ten minutes. just… get _up_.”

he sighs heavily, rolls over, and opens his eyes just in time to see baz and a little girl, around six and carrying a large bucket of water in her hands, freeze.

“wha- baz,” he says thickly, “were you just gonna-”

baz coughs. “of course not. mordelia, put the bucket down.”

simon squints at them both. baz towers over the little girl- which isn’t surprising. baz is a giant (something simon’s always been jealous of) and she’s tiny. she’s looking at him curiously.

“you’re simon snow,” she says, and baz beings to usher her out.

“yes, mordelia, come along-”

“baz has told me all about you,” she says, and her eyes are suspicious. simon’s stomach falls to about the region of his knees, and judging by her satisfied change in expression his face dropped just as quickly.

“mordelia,” hisses baz, cheeks flushed. “what have i said about politeness?”

“"politeness is merely a-” she quotes back at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“no, the other one.”

she sticks out her lower lip. “be polite?”

“yes,” he says, “and guess what you’re not being right now?”

she sticks her tongue out at him, and he looks like he’s fighting back a smile. “just go.”

she skips away.

“who-” simon clears his throat. “who was that?”

“my sister, mordelia. ah, sorry about that,” he says, nodding to the bucket. “desperate times.”

“i would have gotten up.”

“mmh,” hums baz, unconvinced. his voice is still oddly flat. guilt twists in simon’s stomach.

“i- sorry, about last night,” he says, quietly, and it’s like a wall comes slamming down. baz turns away.

“don’t mention it.”

“i-”

“don’t mention it.” his voice is infused with steel, and simon looks down. he’s not really in any position to argue.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: all characters belong to rainbow rowell

simon’s been friends with baz for over a month before his old group decide to speak up.

they’re lounging in an empty room for lunch, and everyone’s been on edge all day. there’s nervous energy practically crackling in the air.

“snow,” says gareth, finally, “why’re you talking to the pitch-bitch?”

the rest of the group stiffens immediately, muttered conversations ceasing. 

“what?”

it’s like a dam has broken loose- gareth takes a deep breath, then explodes. “why are you talking to him? and why the fuck have you dyed your hair?”

“is that any of your business?”

“yes, it is.” his voice is sharp and frustrated, and simon sneers.

“is it? really? because it’s-”

“are you two _together_?” gareth’s voice is dripping with disgust, and when simon’s eyes widen he jeers. “you _are_! you dyed your hair for him-”

“shut the fuck up,” says simon, voice practically a growl. “we’re not-”

“then why are you going over to his house? why are you dying your hair? why are you acting like you’re best friends? fucking _hell_ , simon, he’s a _fairy_ \- he’s a _whore_ , you said it yourself.”

simon’s cheeks match his hair, and he’s practically shaking with rage. “don’t you-”

“don’t i _what_? you’ve called him this yourself, and worse! and now- _fuck_ , simon, you- if i didn’t know better, i’d say you _liked_ him. i’d say you had a _crush_  on the pitch-bitch.”

simon stands up abruptly, knocking his chair over. “don’t be fucking _stupid_ \- of course i don’t, i would never-”

gareth jerks up too, and they stand nose to nose. “you’re fucking _pathetic_ , snow, you-”

simon snaps, swings a fist into his gut and gets a square blow on his cheekbone in return. it feels strangely good- he’s been tiptoeing around his problems for over a month now. he can vent now.

and then he’s being yanked off gareth, and they’re both glaring at each other and yanking at the restraining hands on their shoulder.

(he fucking _doesn’t_.)

—

“ _jesus_ , snow, what’s happened to you?”

baz’s voice, coming from across the table, is familiar; tired, and posh, and not quite low enough to be called deep. it’s more concerned than anything else right now, but simon feels some of the tension melt out of his shoulders.

he’s fucked.

“i’m fine,” he mutters, and baz frowns.

“you’re not _fine_ , simon, your face is _bruised_.”

the indignance in his voice makes simon snort, against his will. baz rolls his eyes.

“what happened?” he asks again, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. simon smiles tightly.

“oh, you know, just talking with some friends.”

baz looks up sharply. “they did this to you? why?”

“someone’s got to protect your honor,” says simon teasingly. baz groans.

“simon snow, if you’re not joking-” he sees simon’s face go serious, and glares. “you _are_! simon, i don’t need you to play the fucking _hero_ or whatever you’re doing-”

“jesus fuck,” moans simon, “not you too. i came over here because i thought you would be nicer to me.”

“i came to you,” baz points out huffily.

“you scooted a seat down!”

“still counts.” he reaches out, tentatively, and touches the bruise on simon’s cheekbone; he hisses quietly, and baz snatches his hand back. “simon…”

“i can take care of myself.”

baz rolls his eyes again. “i know you can, but do you really have to take care of me too?”

“yes,” says simon seriously, and baz’s cheeks turn a light pink.

“my point,” he mutters, “was no, you don’t.”

simon grins. “c'mon, baz, i’m fine.” at least he’s not still upset with him about the whole drinking incident.

“you’re not,” says baz, but it’s more defeated than anything. “actually, wait, which part of my honor were you defending?”

simon’s face turns stormy and his jaw clenches. “doesn’t matter.”

baz pouts, but simon knows he’s got that immobile look on his face. he can’t be argued with.

—

“why do we never go to your house?” complains baz, sitting upside down on his bed. (he likes to sit like that, simon’s found. it’s a little weird, but mostly endearing.)

“because my house is awful.”

“why?” baz is genuinely curious, so simon does his best not to brush him off.

“i just… i don’t like it.” he frowns. “it’s almost always empty, like. besides me. and sometimes dad, but i never know he’s there until he’s just leaving, you know? your house is much better.”

“is it?” baz’s nose wrinkles.

“well, yeah,” says simon. “you’ve got all your sisters running about-”

“one’s only crawling,” interjects baz, and simon flaps his hands at him.

“and your mum’s the nicest lady in the world- her cookies are the best, and-”

“simon,” says baz, lips turning down at the corners, “do you have a crush on my mother?”

“what? no! of course not. i’m just saying- the cookies, and the scones-”

“yes, that’s enough about mother,” says baz, voice thick with repressed laughter. “i suppose i see your point. i was only curious, after all.”

“mmh,” hums simon. “plus your room always smells nice. like oranges.”

“that’s- kind of a weird thing to say, snow.”

simon shrugs. it’s true, anyways.

it smells like him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: all characters belong to rainbow rowell

agatha wellbelove is the prettiest girl in the school.

she knows it, too. she curls her silky blonde hair just enough to make it look natural and tints her lips a pale pink and lines her eyes in soft brown. she’s gorgeous. she gets places.

and she knows that simon snow is slipping.

he was the most popular boy in the school- cool and untouchable and a little cruel. (just enough to make him exciting.)

she knows he likes her- well, everyone likes her, really- and she feels bad for him, watching him flounder, watching him grab onto his previous victim for support. (she won’t admit it, but she feels bad for pitch too. he doesn’t really deserve what simon’s doing, and he doesn’t really deserve what’s going to happen when simon inevitably finds his footing too late in the game.)

and he really is handsome, underneath that glower- and now that the glower’s slipping away, too, she can really see it.

so she decides to help him out, a little.

—

simon’s walking to his class when agatha clicks up behind him in her high heels and takes his arm.

“hey, simon.”

“hey, agatha.” it’s almost a question- why’s she talking to him now? they sit together at lunch anyways, and the tardy bell’s about to ring.

“so, i wanted to ask you something.”

she’s looking at him oddly- through her lashes, biting her lip. “all right, go on.”

“do you want to go to dinner with me tomorrow?”

simon surprised when the first word that crosses his mind is ‘ _fuck_ ’- simon’s surprised, full stop. agatha’s never really been interested in him as anything more than a friend. “as a- as a date?”

“yeah,” she says, voice smooth and soft and just so. simon should want this- he used to want this, he knows, more than anything. simon and agatha, golden king and queen of the school.

but he doesn’t want it anymore. and he doesn’t know why.

he has to want this.

so he forces a smile, shoves all thought out of his mind, makes himself relax his hands, shoulders, neck. “'course. when?”

“i was thinking seven?”

“sure. i’ll pick you up.”

and he smiles at her as she walks away, even though something feels like it’s ripping inside of him.

he doesn’t know why.

—

“so, i have a date with agatha tomorrow.”

it’s blurted out into the comfortable silence in baz’s room- they come here after school most days to do homework and talk (well, baz does homework and simon talks).

baz freezes, something sinking in his stomach.

of course.

he’s always expected it, really. simon and agatha look like they were made for each other. two fucking sun children- although simon’s always been the brighter of the two.

maybe he’s just bitter.

“that’s nice, snow.”

simon frowns. “well, yeah- but, like, it’s not- i feel weird about it,” he finally says, and he looks so downcast that baz feels almost bad.

“how so?”

simon huffs. “i dunno- i used to like her. like, really like her… but now it’s- you know what? never mind. i’m being stupid.”

 _yes_ , baz agrees, but only in his head. aloud, he hums noncommittally.

“what’s wrong with you, then? look, i know you don’t like agatha, but-”

“she’s fine,” says baz stiffly. simon gives him a look.

“baz, you hate agatha.”

“no, i don’t.”

“yeah you do- you’ve never liked her, i can tell.”

baz tries to fight off the scathing retorts on the tip of his tongue, fixing his eyes on his essay.

“why is that? she was never particularly bad- she was about the nicest out of us, right? she never-”

“shut up, snow.”

“and she tried to get us to stop, too-”

“shut up.” baz’s fists are clenched, and he’s staring at his lap. he hears simon inhale sharply behind him.

“right, sorry.”

there’s an awkward silence. “have fun, anyway.”

“hmm?” simon sounds like he was lost in thought.

“on your date.”

“oh. yeah.”

whatever. let him have his golden destiny.

—

“so baz was saying-”

agatha sighs. “simon, you’ve not shut up about pitch since we got here.”

“sorry?”

she honestly thinks he doesn’t know what she’s talking about- maybe he doesn’t notice. “you keep bringing him up, simon. you’ve talked more about him than you have about me.”

“well, i know you,” he says, blinking. “we’re friends.”

“yes, simon,” she says patiently. “and pitch is your friend too.” she lets her mouth turn down and her nose wrinkle, just enough to show what she thinks about that, and he sits up straighter. defensively. “but you keep talking about him. and, quite honestly, i don’t care.”

“oh. oh, right.” he’s still blinking, cheeks red, and she feels a sudden flash of pity. he’s really not the boy he was a few months ago. that’s a shame.

“simon,” she says gently. “do you like him?”

“what? yeah, he’s my friend.”

“no, i mean- do you like him?”

his expression changes- drops, then closes shut abruptly. “of course not, agatha, don’t be ridiculous.”

“simon-”

“let’s talk about you, if that’s what you want.”

she rolls her eyes, but his jaw is shoved stubbornly and she knows it’s really no use to argue. it never really is, with him.

she still tries.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: all characters belong to rainbow rowell

_buzz. buzz. buzz. buzz._

_**hey, baz** _

_**what’s up** _

_**baz** _

_**bazzzzz** _

_**are u ignoring me** _

_**again** _

_**really** _

baz turns his phone off.

—

 _he never liked you back_ , he tells himself. _never. delusional, stupid idiot._

he sees them walking through school, hand and hand, hears whispers everywhere- “ _i hear they skived off history to snog_ ”, and “ _aren’t they just the best couple_?” over and over and over again.

he hates it. he hates him. (he hates himself.)

_not good enough._

he had thought- maybe- the way simon looked at him, sometimes. what he said. what he did.

_stupid._

—

“baz isn’t talking to me.”

agatha sighs. “simon-”

“okay, you don’t like hearing about him, but- it’s been, like, a few weeks. and he’s not talking to me.”

she turns to look at him. “so?”

“well-” he hesitates. “well, he used to ignore me, but he doesn’t anymore. i mean, he didn’t. i just- i’m worried… that he’ll never talk to me. again.”

“simon,” she says, brushing the hair out of her eyes impatiently. “i don’t care about pitch.”

“but i do!”

his face is flushed and his eyebrows are furrowed. she sighs.

“simon, you’re his bully.”

he jerks back like she’s slapped him. “i’m not-”

“well, fine- you _were_ his bully.” agatha looks at simon pityingly. “simon, you called him some pretty terrible things. you did bad things to him. and then you tried to make it up to him, for whatever reason… i think we all knew it wasn’t going to last.”

“but i still want to talk to him! he’s the one not talking to me!”

“ _i_ know that,” snaps agatha. “you’ve been talking of nothing but him for the past week. he’s the one who doesn’t know it, simon! he’s the one that shutting himself off from you so what’s happened since fucking _primary_ school doesn’t start up again!”

“i wouldn’t! i- he- i just- why now? what did i do? we were _good_. like, we were _fine_. then he just… stopped.” he looks lost.

“a couple weeks ago, right?”

“yeah?”

“what happened a couple weeks ago?”

he just blinks at her, and she huffs, stands up. “you’re so thick, simon, jesus christ- whatever, figure this out on your own.”

“agatha, please-”

she pauses, looking back at him. “okay, you care about him. show him that. really show him that. and-” she stops, smiles wryly. “i won’t blame you for what you find out.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

but she’s already at the door.

—

**_baz_ **

**_baz cmon i need to talk to you_ **

**_please_ **

**_stop ignoring me_ **

**_right im coming up to ur house_ **

—

there’s a knock on his window.

baz groans, pulls his duvet up over his head- he knows it’s simon anyway. he can just sit out there for all he cares.

but he’s left the window open- apparently the knock was just a formality- and simon’s climbing in. he wonders if he could just fake sleep.

“baz?”

he sounds unusually tentative.

“go away, snow.”

“stop it,” he whispers, voice pained. “ _stop it_ , baz- i don’t know what i _did._ ”

the end of his bed dips- simon’s sat down. baz draws his feet closer to himself, even though he knows it’s petty. simon inhales softly.

“baz, please- tell me what’s wrong, yell at me, i don’t care, just- please don’t ignore me.” his voice is quiet and vulnerable and tinged faintly with panic. “i don’t know what i did wrong, baz, i promise- i won’t do it again, i swear, i-”

he breaks off as he notices baz’s eyes peeking over the top of his blanket. simon’s cheeks are painted red and his breathing is strained.

“baz!”

“snow,” he says warily. _he chose agatha._

_it wasn’t a choice, idiot. you weren’t even an option._

—

his palms are slick.

he wipes them on his jeans, swallowing dryly and casting his eyes to his shoes.

“why’re you mad at me?”

he curses his voice for cracking- damn it, he really is fucking pathetic, isn’t he?

“i’m not,” says baz impassively, and simon wants to scream.

“you are! you’ve been ignoring me for _weeks_ , baz, i don’t- i don’t know what i did _wrong,_ ” he repeats, desperately. baz has to understand- that he didn’t mean it, that he’s trying to change, that he’s _sorry_ -

_he’s been ignoring him for weeks._

it all thuds into place, hard enough that simon actually jerks backwards.

“ _agatha_ ,” he breaths, and watches baz’s face ice over.

“what about her?”

he’s never liked agatha. his face when he said he had a date with her. ignored texts, missed calls-

“you- baz?”

baz’s composure is flickering- his eyes are wide and panicked over his sneer. “what, snow?”

“it was because of that, wasn’t it?”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about-”

simon’s inching forward, baz is pressing himself back. “because i went to dinner with her. because we-”

“snow, get _off_ -”

simon’s arms are caging baz in against his headboard- his eyes are darting around frantically. “you’re jealous of her,” he whispers.

“i’m not-”

“you _like_ me.”

“ _no_! no-”

“ _i_ like _you_ ,” he breathes, wonderingly, and then he lunges forward, capturing baz’s lips in his own.

he’s _everything._


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: all characters belong to rainbow rowell

he’s kissing simon snow.

or, rather, simon snow is kissing him. because he’s frozen into place, pushed up against his headboard- it feels like his heart has stopped beating, like his brain has blinked out.

and then a fire sparks in his fingertips, crawling up his arms and down his legs and finally into the middle of his chest- and it explodes.

and he explodes with it.

he twines his fingers into simon’s curls, pulls himself up with it (simon doesn’t seem to mind) and this is _new_ , this is _wonderful_ , this is-

_he’s kissing simon snow._

—

baz is an entire world wrapped into a pair of soft lips.

he’s fire and he’s electricity and he’s _magic_ , a thousand sparks swirling and flickering and it’s _beautiful_ , _he’s_ beautiful-

he never wants to stop.

—

_finally._

—

they break apart in gaps and gasps and simon feels something burning in his stomach.

“baz,” he murmurs, eyes locked. blue against grey. “i think- _baz._ ”

he pulls his thumb across baz’s cheek, flushed pink, and through his silky hair, and he thinks he might be in love.

and he’s terrified. (of what? of sneers, of pointed looks, of hushed whispers-)

but for now all he can do is press their lips together again. maybe he can show baz what he can’t say.

(maybe that’s all that’s important.)

—

he hold his hand like it’s something precious and fragile and perfect. he traces delicate bones and calloused fingertips like they’re made of glass, and he brings baz’s palm up to kiss.

baz feels himself melting.

—

“i didn’t know you were gay,” whispers baz, and simon stiffens.

“i’m not.” and then he sighs, and relaxes, flopping down on his back. “i mean… i think- can you like both?”

“yeah,” baz says, and suddenly he’s smiling. simon smiles too, like he can’t help it.

“what?”

“god, i don’t know- simon snow, you glorious _idiot_.” he brushes simon’s hair out his eyes tentatively and props himself up on an elbow. “i’m sorry for ignoring you.”

simon looks like he’s glowing- his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are sparkling like stars. (he’s lovely.) “i’m not. well, yeah i am, because it sucked, but- i’m not sorry about this. i think.”

their hands find each other on baz’s duvet.

“i thought it was going to kill me,” baz confesses, eyes on his ceiling. “you, i mean… i thought i’d always be wanting. i thought i’d always be waiting.”

“i didn’t realize,” says simon, voice low. “or- maybe i did. but i just… didn’t think about it.” he squeezes baz’s hand. “but you have me now.”

baz swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. “i thought it was going to kill me,” he repeats.

“i know. i’m sorry.” simon pushes baz’s hair off his forehead. “god, i missed you.”

“i missed you too,” whispers baz.

—

he spends the night.

hands locked together, sleeping side by side (just sleeping).

simon thinks he wants to wake up to this sight every day- morning sunshine making baz look like an angel.

he’s the most beautiful person simon’s ever seen. sometimes just looking at him feels like a punch in the stomach, like the air’s been knocked out of him, because pearly skin and grey-ocean eyes-

he turns off baz’s alarm, even though he knows he’ll be mad. it’s worth it.

because simon needs to think.

he’s not gay. he _can’t_ be gay. because he likes girls- he liked agatha, he’s sure of it. maybe not lately, but he did…

he doesn’t want to think about agatha.

and he thinks he might love baz. he thinks he might properly _love_ him- and it’s scary.

he’s spent his whole life so afraid of being different- he wears stacked shoes because he thinks he’s not tall enough and hurts everyone around him to keep them away, keep them from seeing that maybe he’s a little different, a little messed up too. (he thinks they noticed anyways.)

and all he wanted to do was impress his father.

so he hated the people his dad hated- like the posh families on the hill. not agatha, she lived across town, but the pitches and grimms and banes; and it just so happened that basilton pitch was just his age.

and _god_ was he different.

he wore his disdain like the flower crowns on his head- like his mint green jumpers and buttercup jeans. and simon has been tearing it down for as long as they’ve known each other.

and he thought it was because he hated baz. (but now he thinks it was really because he hated himself.) (or his father. he doesn’t know.)

baz stirs, rolls over- into simon- and simon looks down at his with an ache growing in his chest. he wants to take back every word, every punch, everything he’s ever done to make him sad.

and when he’s done, he’ll fill it all up with happy memories and kisses and so much love they won’t know what to do with it.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: all characters belong to rainbow rowell

they stay in bed all day, talking and laughing and just being near each other.

when baz’s dad comes knocking at around twelve, baz says he’s sick. his eyes are fever-bright, and his cheeks are flushed pink- maybe that’s why he doesn’t argue. (simon hides under the bed- it’s roomy, of course. baz’s bed is enormous.)

but even through his delirious ( _intoxicating_ , _overflowing_ ) happiness, there’s something prodding at the back of his mind. there’s something missing. something he’s overlooked?

and it’s only when he’s back home, flopping down on his own bed at nine, that he realizes that-

oh, god, he’s forgotten about agatha.

he’s been kissing baz all day, and holding his hand, and he’s forgotten his actual _girlfriend_ (granted, he’s fairly sure she doesn’t actually like him all that much in any way other than that of a friend, but it’s still a really shitty thing to do).

so he lies there, and thinks about texting baz- because baz can make almost everything better- but instead he digs out his phone and calls her. if he’s going to be shitty, he has to own up to it.

“agatha?”

his voice is dripping with poorly disguised guilt, and he hears her suspicious pause on the other end of the line.

and then she sighs.

“so you finally did it, then?”

he blinks. “what?”

she huffs, exasperated with him like always, and he braces himself. for what? a lecture?

“you finally snogged baz?”

simon freezes, a cold feeling trickling down his spine. “what?” that’s not what he expected- she wasn’t supposed to _know_ -

“you’ve been going on about him for weeks, simon. do you really think i hadn’t noticed?”

“is it- obvious?” he thinks his voice is shaking. what if everyone else has already noticed? what if the only one who hadn’t realized was _him_?

“no, simon- well, a bit, but don’t forget i’ve known you since we were ten.”

“right,” he mumbles, fighting the urge to hang up. he feels sick.

“simon snow, jesus- it’s not obvious, okay? no one would even think that you snogged a boy, especially not baz- for one, because you’re dating me-”

simon cringes. “sorry-”

“and also because you’ve spent the entirety of your time at school establishing how terrible you think that is.”

simon feels a lump gathering in his throat. “i-”

“look, si… i don’t actually like you like that, okay?” she says softly. “i just didn’t want you to drag baz further down. and you’re a good friend, when you’re not being an absolute prat.”

he supposes that’s true- they’ve been friends since they were little.

they met when he still dressed in ratty jeans and carried around his stupid red rubber ball- it was a birthday present from his dad, and he never let go of it. and he’d gone over to her house for christmas dinner, and helped with the dishes, and her father had called him ‘son’.

and even when he’d stopped being friends with penelope (who really was the one who kept him from insulting everyone he met), she was still there. even when he put up his walls, and even when he because snappish, and even when he mocked and jeered and rose ranks until he was the most popular boy in the school, all chattering groups of friends and parties, even when they were younger. (they’re best friends, sort of.) (he’d had a massive crush on her since before he can remember, but she never seemed to notice. or care.)

but now it’s different.

“i don’t- agatha, i think i love him.” it’s rushed, jumbled, terrified.

“maybe not. simon, you’re seventeen- ”

“so’re you-”

“well, i’m not in love with anyone, am i? especially not someone i’ve liked for three weeks. and only just snogged a day ago.”

simon clears his throat, almost relived. “you’re right… it’s just. he’s-” he shakes his head. “you know what? never mind.”

agatha laughs on the other end. “alright, simon. is that all, then?”

“yeah- wait, no. do you like anyone?”

she pauses. “why?”

“well, it doesn’t seem quite fair to you…”

“that what? we were technically dating and you went off and kissed someone?” her voice is teasing, but it has a bite to it. “by the way, if you happen to fall in love with anyone else- don’t do that to baz.”

simon’s jaw drops. “i would never!”

“good.”

“but you’re avoiding the question.” he backs up and falls down onto his bed, legs sprawled out in front of him. he feels like he should be twirling a house phone cord between his fingers.

“god- okay, yes, simon, i like someone.” she sounds exasperated. “can i go now?”

“nope, not until you tell me who it is.”

she’s quiet, and he grins. “i won’t stop bothering you…”

she snorts. “whatever, snow.”

“ _aggie_ , please?”

“brat.” the silence crackles, and he holds his breath. “right, fine- promise you won’t tell?”

“pinkie promise.”

“you are such a dork- you have to guess.”

he’s terrible at guessing. she knows it. “guess?”

“uh huh.”

matt? no. dev? no. niall? darren? rhys? definitely no- his parakeet had bitten her once and she’d never really gotten over that.

“can you give me a hint?”

“dark hair.”

“do you talk? are you friends?”

“well, not exactly…” he can tell she’s biting her lip. “she- i mean-”

“it’s a _girl_?” simon’s eyes bug out slightly, and agatha scoffs.

“oh, like you can talk- pining over baz for weeks and weeks-”

“i wasn’t _pining_ ,” he mumbles sulkily.

“oh,  _whatever_ \- anyway, yeah, she tutored me-”

“wait-” it all makes sense now, agatha never needs to be tutored. she’s smart, and she has more pride than anyone he’s ever met. besides- “penelope bunce? _my_ _neighbor_ , penelope bunce?”

“and former best friend,” she mutters, and simon’s grin drops for a second.

“don’t distract me- you like _penelope_ _bunce_? why?”

“well, she’s pretty, and funny, and she doesn’t care what people think about her- and she’s _brilliant_ … i don’t know, simon, why does anybody like anybody?”

“i dunno.” he sits straight up. “wait, baz is friends with her!”

“so?”

“he- well, I- could set you two up!”

“she’s straight, simon.”

he’s unperturbed. “well, so was I.”

“simon. she has a boyfriend.”

he deflates. “oh.”

“well,” she amends, “sort of. i know she likes micah- you know, the transfer student?”

simon sets his jaw. “well, she can like you too. she can like you more.”

“i’m flattered,” deadpans agatha, and simon rolls his eyes.

“okay, whatever- c'mon, aggie, i’m just trying to help, don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“how could you tell?”

“you’re always rolling your eyes at me,” simon says, and then crosses his arms. “and i _will_ make her like you, if it’s the last thing i do.”

“simon, she hates you.”

“she must have cooled down. it’s been, like, five years.”

—

she hasn’t cooled down.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: all characters belong to rainbow rowell

they’ve been talking for nearly ten minutes. (well, simon’s talking. penny’s mostly yelling, and glaring.)

baz had agreed to set agatha and penny up easily (he doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s partially because it ensures that simon won’t get with agatha. it’s selfish, he knows.) and simon, being simon, tagged along to meddle. penny had completely ignored him at first, but then simon had made an offhand comment.

and she had exploded.

baz had thought he’d seen penny angry before- like when she punched simon in the face- but that was nothing compared to now. her eyes are flinty, and her arms are folded across her chest.

“c'mon, penny, that was years ago-”

“i don’t _care_ , you-”

“it wasn’t anything personal, i just-”

“you’re worse than your father,” she hisses, and simon freezes. they both do. her mouth makes a shocked ‘o’. “i didn’t-”

“i am _not_.” his voice is low and jagged and hurting. she winces.

and he walks away.

—

“what just happened?”

penny sighs. “are you really friends with simon now?”

“i- sort of,” he says, and she grins wryly.

“huh. yeah, he was my best friend when we were little.”

“really?”

“oh, yeah. i remember- we’d always go over to my house to play, and he’d eat all our food. it drove mum mad, but she never really had the heart to kick him out. we really did adore each other… i think i kept him sane. you know, ish.”

“what do you mean, ‘sane’?”

“well, not really- you know he’s a foster child, yeah? he’s always been a little…” she twists her mouth. “he didn’t know how to talk until he was like, five, because no one talked to him enough- he had to go to speech therapy. and when the mage adopted him- his dad, sorry, we used to call him that, because he was the villain in the magic games we played- he didn’t ever really talk to him? so there was that emotional neglect. he’s never really been cared about properly.”

baz is still silent, so she continues.

“so, yeah, we were best friends. and then- looking back on it, his dad probably made some sort of offhand comment- and even offhand comments are so rare that simon always acted on him. he worshiped him, god knows why… anyway, whatever he said, he cut me off completely, and i got angry, and we haven’t talked since.”

baz blinks. “i see.”

“so what i said was really shitty, yeah.”

“yeah,” baz agrees.

“but he was really shitty to me first.”

“how old were you when you stopped-”

“being friends? maybe eleven.”

baz looks at her sideways. “that was six years ago. you haven’t made up?”

“did you see what he got like? i wasn’t going near him. oh, by the way, are you the one that’s making him nicer?”

“er, yeah. i think so.”

“good,” she says, nodding once. “he’s a massive bitch, yeah? when he doesn’t have someone controlling him. and it’s not like his little group would even dare.” she rolls her eyes, and baz nods.

“oh, yeah, that’s what i wanted to talk to you about- you know agatha?”

“wellbelove? why?”

“well…” he pauses, realizing that actually he has no idea how to do this. “she-”

“is dating simon, i know. do-”

“ah, no, not anymore. he- well, that doesn’t matter,” he says, suddenly flustered. “anyways- you tutored her, right?”

“right,” she says suspiciously. “why?”

“just… wondering.”

“you are honestly the worst liar, this is painful to watch. seriously, why?”

baz straightens. “you like micah, right?”

“the exchange student?” penny wrinkles her nose. “i suppose he’s alright. why?”

“well- wait, really? i thought you liked him.”

“i don’t fancy him, if that’s what you’re saying. we just sit by each other in a couple classes. why?”

“oh, no reason. anyways, agatha needs tutoring help again.”

“oh, really. and she sent you to ask for it.”

“not exactly?”

“jesus, baz, spit it out.”

okay, maybe simon would have been a help here. “talk to agatha.”

“why?”

“just do it, okay?”

they both turn to look at agatha across the room, just as she flips her hair over her shoulder. it glimmers. penny rolls her eyes.

“fine, whatever.” she gets up. baz cringes. “oh, what now?”

“it’s nothing bad,” he says hastily.

“very reassuring.”

he watches her go, shoulders hunching inwards.

oh, he’s terrible at this.

—

agatha sits with her most perfect posture, hair arranged over her shoulders in a silky fall. she focuses all her attention on her folded hands, her soft pink nails- and barely stops her jump when someone clears her throat behind her.

penelope bunce is standing there, hands on hips and looking decidedly unimpressed. “baz says you want to talk to me.”

agatha nods. “yes- you’ve tutored me before, and i thought-”

penny raises an eyebrow. “agatha, you don’t need to be tutored.”

she pauses. “i’m sorry?”

“you know the material perfectly well, almost as well as me. and i know that you’re about as proud as they get-”

“i am _not_ -”

“-so why are you doing this?”

agatha tilts her head up, looking down her nose. “i’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“agatha.”

“ _penelope_.”

penny sighs. “look, if you just want to go for coffee, that’d be fine.”

agatha hesitates. “i’m sorry?”

“let’s go for coffee, okay? i have a feeling you’re not as horrible as you like people to believe.”

“i-” agatha’s stammering, which she would normally be mortified over. “yeah, okay.”

“and you’d better give me your number, so we can coordinate.” penny pulls out her phone and hands it over.

“yes, of course,” says agatha faintly, tapping her number in. “i- text me. i mean-”

“i will,” smirks penny, and walks away.

agatha makes eye contact with baz across the room, and he shrugs, looking about as stunned as her.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: all characters belong to rainbow rowell

they’re all sitting in a circle, trying to study, when simon’s voice breaks the silence.

“so… i’ve come up with a plan.”

baz sighs. he knows from experience that simon won’t give up until he’s explained everything and found out a way to make it happen.

“yeah?”

“we can date each other!”

“we kind of are, simon,” says baz slowly. simon rolls his eyes.

“no, i mean we can _pretend_ to be dating each other!”

“we’re literally dating each other,” says penny distractedly. he slumps dramatically.

“ _no_ , you guys, i mean we can date each _other_.” he enunciates each syllable slowly. “like, me and agatha, and baz and penny.”

“that’s a terrible idea.”

“no it’s not! like, it’s just pretend. they think that we’re dating each other, but really we’re dating _each_ _other_.”

agatha frowns, considering. “you’re saying it really badly, but it does have some merit.”

baz raises an eyebrow.

“you’ve forgotten that everyone knows i’m gay.”

“actually,” says agatha, “they think simon was calling you gay for years. they don’t know if you _actually_ are.”

penny looks up from her work for the first time, looking sort of impressed. “that’s actually not a horrible idea.”

simon beams.

—

this was a terrible idea.

they’re all sat together at baz and penny’s regular table, and people keep staring over at them. it is unusual, baz supposes- simon and agatha are ‘the’ couple, and baz and penny are… not.

“baz,” hisses simon, “you don’t look couple-y enough. kiss penny on the cheek.”

“ _no_!” they both say at the same time, and simon laughs. he’s having way too much fun with this. it’s annoying.

baz glares, leans over, and plants his lips on penny’s cheek. it’s awkward, but simon’s smile slips off immediately. baz smirks. penny splutters.

“okay, i’m all for baz making simon upset-”

“hey-”

“-but maybe warn me next time.” she wipes off her cheek dramatically, and baz pouts.

“we _are_ technically supposed to be dating.”

“hmm… i think i prefer agatha.”

agatha blushes prettily, and baz snorts. simon prods him gently after a moment.

“now you compliment me.”

“why-”

“because i need to preen too.”

“you are so-” he stifles a giggle. “fine, snow. you’re quite handsome in certain lighting.”

“you’re acting like a couple again,” sing-songs agatha under her breath.

“we _are_ a couple,” mutters simon, but they look away from each other all the same.

—

“baz?”

“yeah?”

“what do we do if… they find out?”

silence.

“i don’t know, simon.” baz’s voice is heavy and low.

“hey, i didn’t mean- no, come on, we’d find a way to stick it out.”

“when did you become the one comforting me about this?”

simon goes quiet, then shifts over so he’s on his side.

“since i fell in love with you.”

“since you what?”

baz props himself up on one elbow to look at simon, but he’s got his face buried in his arms.

“wait, simon, since you _what_?”

“since i fell in love with you,” he repeats, voice muffled. baz stares at him, at the messily dyed curls and freckled neck and-

“you’re in love with me?” he whispers. simon hesitates, then nods.

“it’s- i can’t help it,” he says softly. “i _can’t_ , baz, you- i’m sorry.”

“don’t be sorry.” baz’s voice is shaking. “i’m- i think i’m in love with you too.”

and then they’re kissing, softly, sweetly. simon’s thumb brushes over baz’s cheekbone, and slide through his hair, and they’re in _love_.

—

“you weren’t even remotely subtle.”

agatha sulks. “i was. a bit.”

“you weren’t!” penny brandishes her spoon at her. “you _never_ need tutoring help. like, _ever_. and if you did, you’d just go home and study the material extra hard by yourself. i’ve known you since _primary_ school, agatha.”

“no one else caught on,” she mutters, and penny snorts.

“well, yeah, probably because they’re idiots.”

agatha smiles. “probably.”  

they sit there, drinking their drinks. penny chatters, agatha listens. it’s comfortable.

“so, what do you think of simon and baz?”

agatha sighs, bites her lip. “i’m afraid he’s going to break his heart.”

“which one?”

she shrugs. “dunno. either one. they’re…”

“simon was horrible to him,” says penny firmly. “absolutely awful.”

agatha nods.

“do you think baz has forgiven him?”

penny sips her coffee, considering. “i don’t think completely. like, he still wears all black-”

agatha pulls a face. “i preferred his pastels, honestly. they looked much nicer.”

“he still looks fine,” says penny loyally, but then she sighs. “no, you’re right. i think he was happier in them too.”

“fucking simon,” says agatha, and penny agrees wholeheartedly.

—

“simon, get out of my closet.”

simon pokes his head out and winks at baz. “but i thought that was the point of this- i’m in _the_ _closet_.”

“you’re an idiot,” says baz, “and i hate you.” but he’s laughing. “get out of my closet.”

“mmh… nope. by the way, this thing is enormous- and don’t make a joke about how it has to be because you’ve been living in there because i just used it and that’s cheating.”

“damn.” baz flops backwards into his pillow. “what are you even doing in there?”

there’s rustling, and the sound of a drawer opening. “oh my god, is this _all_ hair dye?”

“get out of my closet, simon,” baz calls. “wait, no- your red is getting patchy, do you want to redo it?”

“yeah, sure. can i dye yours?”

“what color?”

“you have so many- can you just dye it white?”

“i suppose, if you want to absolutely destroy it.”

“no, then- pink? green? blue? no, i did blue- silver. purple!”

his hand emerges triumphant, clutching a tube of lilac. baz sighs.

“sure, whatever. get the red.” he considers simon, then looks down at his own dark hair. “and the bleach.”

simon emerges with several bottles and a light purple jumper folded over his arm. he looks down.

“you should wear this.”

“i’ll get dye all over it.”

“then wear it after. please? you look… nice. in light colors.” he pats out a wrinkle. “i’m sorry.”

“yeah, okay,” says baz softly, after a long pause. “i’ll wear it.”

simon looks up, gives him a half smile. “thank you.”

they stand there, just looking at each other, until baz clears his throat.

“right, let’s-”

“-go, yeah, sorry,” says simon, flustered, and leads the way out of baz’s room.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: all characters belong to rainbow rowell

“what are you doing?”

baz startles out of simon’s lap and onto the floor- his little sister is standing in the doorway, hands on hips. they both gape at her for a long moment.

“nothing,” says simon faintly. she frowns at him.

“yes, you-”

“mordelia,” interrupts baz hastily, “this is simon snow.”

mordelia looks decidedly unimpressed. she crosses her arms. “i expected someone… taller.”

“wh- _excuse_ me,” splutters simon. baz closes his eyes.

“next time… please knock.”

she surveys them and nods thoughtfully. “yeah, okay.”

“and close the door,” baz calls after her. she sticks out her tongue at him, and slams it behind her.

“oh my god,” whimpers baz the second the door is closed, and simon bursts out laughing.

“that’s not how i expected to meet your little sister.”

baz joins in, giggling helplessly. “there are three more, don’t worry.”

“three- how many of you _are_ there? and where do they go? i’ve not seen any of them-”

baz composes himself the best he can.

“well, there’s me, of course. and mordelia, who you just met-”

“met,” snorts simon, and baz hushes him with his hand.

“and there’re the twins, mari and bella- marilyn and bellatrix-”

“ _bellatrix_? what century are we living in-”

“hush, simon. my name is tyrannus basilton, you must have expected unusual names. and the baby is annora. nora.”

“marilyn escaped unscathed,” teases simon, and baz groans.

“we’re all jealous.”

“i like your name,” whispers simon. baz bumps their noses together.

“that’s ridiculous-”

“no, really! it’s cute. you’re cute.”

“and _you’re_ a sap.” baz leans forward and presses his lips against simon, smiling all the while. “luckily, i’m in love with you.”

“luckily,” agrees simon, and draws baz’s head back down.

—

“is there a reason you’re throwing my clothes in a pile?” asks baz, in bored tones. simon ignores him, holding up a mint green t-shirt.

“i knew you had those,” he mutters, and tosses it into the heap. baz sighs.

“what is it with you and my closet?”

simon looks defensive. “okay, so i’m not, like, the most organized of guys, but you have these sorted by brand, not color. it’s annoying.”

“since when have you cared?”

simon whines. “i’m bored.”

“simon, you can’t rearrange my closet-”

“watch me. do you like this?”

he holds up a particularly ugly mustard yellow jumper, and baz cringes.

“god, no. maybe it is about due for a sorting.”

there’s silence, except for the sound of baz’s pen- he’s writing an essay- then simon clears his throat.

“ah, do you- ever wear suits?”

“i’m sorry?”

he turns, and simon’s holding up his emerald three-piece. he rolls his eyes.

“yes, for some reason my mother’s always giving me suits. i never wear them.”

“you should.”

“why?”

simon turns, gives him a disbelieving look. “oh, come on- you’d _rock_ the posh vampire look.”

“i’m not a vampire, snow,” baz drawls.

“you might as well be- super pale, widows peak, weirdly sharp canines-”

“why have you been looking at my teeth?”

“well, not teeth exactly,” simon mutters, blushing hotly. “general mouth area… anyway, the suit would really complete the look.”

“you are a closeted nerd,” baz informs him. simon clutches his chest dramatically.

“you wound me. dracula.”

baz throws a pillow at him.

—

“so, i thought you could stay. for actual dinner.”

simon looks up. “why?”

“because you always go in and out through my window- i think you used the front door one time, and that was because i locked my window.”

“okay, yeah, but why?”

“well, my father wants to meet you. as my friend,” he adds quickly. “of course.”

simon frowns. “i’ve spend the better part of the last four months at your house, how have i possibly not met your dad? or three of your sisters?”

“it’s a big house,” baz shrugs. “anyways, we spend most of the time in my room.”

simon nods, conceding the point. “so you do family dinners?”

“mmh,” baz hums. “and we have to dress up for them. it’s all very unnecessary.”

“you have to dress up? why?”

“some tradition of my father’s family,” he says, nose wrinkling. “it’s nothing extraordinary, just a nice shirt and pants. i can lend you some if you want.”

simon’s going to protest, but then he looks down at his leather jacket and ripped black jeans. not exactly appropriate dinner wear. “right, thanks.”

“and… he doesn’t know, okay?” baz takes simon’s hand, staring at their linked fingers. “he thinks i’m actually dating penny, and you’re actually dating agatha.”

simon raises baz’s hand to his mouth, presses a kiss to his fingers. “no problem.”

“nora might throw food at you,” baz warns, after a moment. “she sometimes does that, if we’re not careful.”

“i live for danger,” simon smirks, and when baz giggles he kisses him on the cheek. “hey, really- it’ll be fine. i can be cool.”

“you were calling me dracula earlier today,” baz points out- but he’s smiling, albeit weakly.

“that’s because you’re a vampire. a very moral, sweet vampire. who i’m in love with.”

“if i was actually a vampire, you would have been drained. several years ago,” baz grumbles.

“you love me,” grins simon.

“yeah,” baz admits, and kisses him. “i’m nervous.”

“don’t be. seriously.” he squeezes his hand. “you’re with me.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: all characters belong to rainbow rowell

dinner is just about as awkward as simon had assumed it would be.

he eats to keep his mouth busy, and when baz’s mum offers him extra servings he feels like he has to oblige (even if he’s pretty sure she’s just doing it out of politeness). he sort of meets baz’s younger siblings- they exchange nods, and he can feel them staring at him through the rest of the meal. he studiously avoids eye contact with baz’s dad

mostly, he just wraps his ankle around baz’s own and scoots his chair a little too close because all right, he’s just a bit nervous. and baz is comfortable, and safe, and he smells like cedar and oranges and just a hint of vanilla. 

baz walks him home, after, and they linger at his doorstep for longer than strictly necessary.

“love you,” simon whispers as baz walks off, and watches him turn and grin.

“i love you too.”

—

baz isn’t at school the next day. and he’s not answering simon’s texts, which is unlike him.

he talks to the teacher in their one shared class, miss possibelf, and she frowns at him before telling him that yes, his absence is unexcused. simon feels his stomach twist, and forces a smile for her.

“thank you, i was just wondering.”

at lunch, they all sit at their usual table, although the whole dynamic seems off. simon’s unusually jumpy, always reaching for a steadying hand that isn’t there. penny notices.

“what’s wrong with you?”

simon shakes his head. “i dunno. baz is sick.”

“yeah, but it’s not like that’s weird. baz is kind of frail. he’s sick a lot.”

“baz isn’t frail,” defends simon loyally. “and anyways, this is weird. he won’t text me back, and miss possibelf said that he has an unexcused absence. baz _never_ has unexcused absences.”

“there’s a first time for everything,” says agatha. she sounds bored. “lighten up, simon. seriously.”

“i’m just worried, is all,” simon grumbles. the girls give him exasperated looks.

“baz is fine. calm down.” penny turns back to her food.

—

simon approaches the heavy black door with some trepidation.

he uses baz’s window because he finds the front intimidating- there’s a literal drive, lined with trees, and a heavy black gate, and a forest swooping around it. it even has _walls_ (which simon climbs almost daily).

but he’s going up to his front door anyways.

he tentatively lifts the gold knocker and lets it drop (why can’t they just knock by themselves? rich people). there’s complete silence for maybe a minute, until the door creaks open slowly.

the elderly lady standing there ushers him inside when she sees who it is- simon thinks she’s either baz’s grandmother or his nanny. he smiles politely at her.

“hi, is baz in?”

her smile stays up, but her eyes tighten. “no.”

simon has a bad feeling curling in his stomach, but he doesn’t let his expression change. “right, then- where is he?”

she sighs. “we don’t know.”

“what do you mean you don’t-”

“baz didn’t come home last night,” she says, softly.

simon’s fingers go cold. “what happened to him?”

she gives him a long look, in the silence of the hall. simon feels rather like he’s stepped into some sort of action movie. “mr. grimm is a very important man, you must know.”

simon nods. he’s seen baz’s dad- he’s scary, all sharply pressed suits and flinty eyes and snow white hair. simon’s father hates him. they’re business rivals.

“he has enemies,” she says, and simon almost laughs- that’s not something real people say, at least not anymore- but she looks utterly serious. simon feels in over his head.

“so you’re saying that baz was kidnapped.”

“i’m saying that’s a distinct possibility, yes.”

“no,” says simon. “that’s ridiculous. no, people don’t get kidnapped-”

“they do. every day.” she sighs. “we warn him to be careful. we’re a very wealthy family, mr. snow. we have political power-”

“are you blaming this on _him_?” simon’s suddenly angry- or terrified, maybe. his hands are shaking.

“of course not.” her lips tighten, and simon sees a flash of worry, pain- of how much she cares about baz- break through her icy facade. then he blinks, and it’s gone.

“is he going to be okay?”

his voice is small. she looks at him.

“do come in.” she considers him, and her face softens somewhat. “i suppose we can tell you some of what we know. thus far.”

—

baz is cold.

that’s all he can focus on, for some reason. his aching fingers and toes and shivering arms and legs and stiff neck and-

maybe he’s focusing on it because he’s terrified.

it’s pitch black in the room they locked him it- there’s shuffling, every once in a while, coming from the corner. maybe rats. maybe something else. (he keeps seeing a figure loom up in the dark. there’s nothing there, he knows, but it still makes him huddle backwards into the wall.)

they’ve not talked to him since they threw him in here. (he has no idea how much time has passed- it feels like days, but it might have been hours.)

he wants to get out.

—

“he’s been what?” agatha hisses, eyes wide and shocked. beside her, penny gapes.

“are you kidding? if this is a prank-”

“of course i’m not kidding,” says simon. he’s close to tears- maybe that’s why they don’t argue with him. “god, they- they’re called the ‘numpties’, they’re a fucking _gang_ or something, and they sent baz’s dad a _ransom_ _note_.”

“for how much?”

“i don’t know, they won’t tell me- oh, god, this is _bad,_  i don’t know what’s going to happen to him-”

“you’ve told the police, right?” says agatha, looking horrified. simon slumps.

“baz’s dad won’t, he says he can handle this by himself- i probably shouldn’t be telling you about this, i just-” he makes a strangled noise, half sob and half quiet scream. “we don’t know where he is, and they’re too damn _stubborn_ to go out and look.”

they both look at a loss for words. penny shakes her head.

“this doesn’t happen in real life.”

“it because baz’s family is apparently famous in the business world- i guess i knew that, my dad complains about it when he bothers to talk to me- but i just didn’t think-”

“of _course_ you didn’t think this was going to happen,” penny says vehemently. “this isn’t remotely your fault, simon, don’t try to say that it is.”

simon’s face crumples. “i’m scared they’ll hurt him.”

they each take one of his hands.

“hey,” whispers agatha, “c’mon. it’ll be fine.”

“and if it isn’t…” penny tightens her lips. “i can talk to mr. grimm.”

it sounds like she’s promising something. 

simon doesn’t ask for specifics.


	20. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: all characters belong to rainbow rowell

* * *

“baz, you look _wonderful_.”

penny jumps forward and grabs him up in a bear hug, and baz squeezes her back.

“shouldn’t you be with simon?” he teases, trying to hide the shake in his voice. she clucks at him, brushing his hair back and straightening the lapels of his suit.

“don’t be silly, i have to see you first. how’re you feeling?”

“terrified,” he confesses.

“hey, you’re going to be amazing. i promise.” she tilts her head sympathetically. “chin up, pitch, you can’t be any more of a mess than simon.”

“that’s probably true,” admits baz, attempting a grin. “where’s agatha?”

“milling around, chatting,” says penny dismissively. “being polite.”

“mmh,” baz hums, fiddling with his gloves. he smiles at penny. “go on, then, i’ll be fine.”

penny’s eyes fill briefly with tears. “i’m so proud of you both-”

baz kisses her cheek. “save it for the speech, bunce. go.”

she mock glares, and walks out the door.

—

“oh, god- penny, what if i mess up?”

simon’s hands are tangled in his hair, and he’s pacing the softly lit room. there are tears brimming in his eyes.

“calm down, simon.”

he moans, quietly. “what if i just left? i could just-”

“you are not going to leave your own wedding, simon.”

“i just- i don’t want to mess it up,” he repeats, quietly.

“oh, simon…” she squeezes his hand. “it’s going to be fine. you love each other.”

he nods, wipes at his eyes like he’s embarrassed. “more than anything. you’re right.” he smiles bravely. “is it about time?”

“five minutes,” she says softly. “i’d better go.” she straighten his tie, pats down his hair. “i’ve said this to baz-”

“you talked to him? how is he?”

“nervous. just like you.” she smiles. “i told him how proud i am of him. of you. you’ve changed so much.”

simon can only nod, throat choked. she kisses him on the cheek.

“good luck, simon.”

—

it’s like a painting.

it’s evening, and lamps hung from posts are casting a soft amber glow. there’re fireflies, too, flitting about, and white roses wreathing tables and the platform they’re going to be standing on.

and baz is standing at the end of the aisle, dressed all in white.

simon loses his breath.

baz looks up from his hands, twisted together, and they make eye contact.

and all of simon’s fear, all of his nervousness, melts away. he’s everything in the world.

he’s home.

he hardly feels himself walking up the aisle, not until he takes baz’s hands. they’re cold, as usual, and simon smiles. he’s crying. they both are.

“love you,” he whispers.

“i love you too.”

the person officiating is talking, simon thinks, but all the matters is baz’s eyes and lips and cheeks and-

“they’ve decided to say their own vows,” he says, and nods to simon.

he shakes his head, draws in his deepest breath. it’s completely silent, but for the chirp of crickets. “basilton pitch.”

his voice is trembling. he clears his throat. “basilton pitch, i-

"i thought i was going to lose you, once.” his voice cracks, and he gulps. “when we were seventeen. remember? we were all so scared- when you got-

"that’s when i realized how much you meant to me. and it scared me, because i thought it was impossible that you could love as much as i love you, back-

"but here we are, yeah?” he laughs softly. “here we are. and i love you more than _anything_. i promise i will keep you safe, and happy, and i’ll be with you through good times and bad. always.”

he pulls out the ring- a grey band, precisely the color of baz’s eyes, with a sapphire embedded in the middle- and slips it delicately onto baz finger. 

baz swallows hard.

“i’ve loved you for so long. i’ve loved you for so _long_ , so _much_ , i thought it was going to kill me. it was like fire, and i was like newspaper, and-

"and then one day it all changed. one day you loved me back. one day you came to my house at two a.m with a bottle of hair dye, and you looked at me like i looked at you, and-

"simon, i love you. so much. and i wish i could tell my sixteen year old self how this is going to turn out, because i never in a million years could have imagined myself up here, standing hand in hand with the man i love, about to be married. and i’m going to love you forever, okay? i’m going to love you until the day i die.” he voice chokes, and he ducks his head, sliding the ring onto simon’s finger. “thank you.”

there’s scattered applause from the audience, and it dies down as the officiant raises his hand.

“i now pronounce you- spouses for life.” he smiles. “you may now kiss the groom.”

they crash together, wrapping their arms around each others back. simon dips baz, and he yelps, then grins wider. the audience cheers.

“ _i love you. i love you. i love you._ ”

—

they haven’t let go of each other’s hand yet.

they weave through the crowd, talking with guests and grinning and pressing kisses on each other when they get the chance- they’re glowing. they’ve never been happier.

“it’s your turn next,” says simon to penny, and she winks at him when agatha’s back is turned.

—

penny clinks her fork on her class, and slowly the chatter dies down.

“simon snow is an idiot,” she begins, and everyone bursts out laughing. she waits for it to die down.

“he’s hard headed, stubborn, and he’s rude if you let him get away with it. and in high school we did, and he made baz’s life a misery.”

simon looks down at his shoes, and baz looks at his lap, and the silence is uncomfortable. 

“and then he fell in love with baz.

“he’s changed a lot, you know. from the bully who hated himself into who he is now.” she looks to be lost in thought for a moment, before she continues. 

“i’m sure you all remember when baz got kidnapped.”

everyone’s quiet. penny seems unperturbed. “ _i_ remember. it was terrifying. and baz’s dad wouldn’t go out and pay ransom, or look properly- but simon did. he got baz’s aunt and me and agatha and we scoured the whole city until they found him, and simon punched someone in the face so hard that he broke his cheekbone and three of his fingers and-

“we got baz out. and that wa the first time in a long time that i saw who simon used to be, really, when we’d play in the woods behind our houses and he’d be the hero who defeated the bad guys.” penny smiles.

“simon snow is an idiot, yes. but simon snow-pitch is not.” she raises her glass, and the guests mimic her, dabbing at their eyes. simon and baz look at each other, tears threatening.

“to love.”

—

they sway softly, faces inches from each others, simon’s arms around baz’s neck.

“basilton snow-pitch, i love you,” breathes simon, and baz grins.

“as i love you, simon snow-pitch.”

there’s music playing quietly- _i will follow you into the dark_ , by death cab for cutie.

and simon reaches up on his tiptoes and kisses his husband.

—

they’re so happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: thank you so, so much for sticking with this fic. it’s been so much fun to write, and i love each and everyone of you.
> 
> thank you.


End file.
